


Tether

by helicases, super



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Horror, Implied Relationships, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Ocean, Parallel Universes, Past Relationship(s), Reincarnation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helicases/pseuds/helicases, https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/pseuds/super
Summary: "I think you ended up with a lot of chances, Wonwoo. I just don't think you remember them."Wonwoo finds Chan time and time again.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30
Collections: A Sip of Summer Wine





	Tether

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tether (art entry)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528194) by [helicases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helicases/pseuds/helicases), [super](https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/pseuds/super). 



> Written for prompt SW338, a companion piece to super's [Tether](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528194).
> 
> Please mind the archive warning and tags. See the end notes for additional details.
> 
> **
> 
> A billion thank yous to the mods for absolutely everything. A billion more to robin for encouraging me to take this prompt, and to the friends who let me brainstorm at them. Thank you prompter for the Anne Carson quote. I hope at least one of these reincarnation cycles intrigues you.

Chan laughs directly into the proffered microphone and Wonwoo feels it reverberate in his chest. If joy were condensed into a single sound, it might be something like Lee Chan’s laughter. 

Wonwoo thinks, not for the first time, that he would do anything for Chan. 

He has. 

And he will. 

**

Wonwoo watches as Chan accepts the box containing his belongings with stiff politeness. From an outsider’s point of view, propriety radiates from every sharp line of Chan’s body. From Wonwoo’s point of view, determination is the only thing keeping him together. Chan is here to do his duty as something like a favor for a fallen comrade. There is no one left to collect Wonwoo’s things from the army. There is no one left to mourn for him. There is no one but Lee Chan, who bows respectfully and shows himself out. 

He has always been strong, his physical and mental fortitude a boon and an inspiration to many, but Wonwoo watches Chan cross a bridge on his way home, jaw clenched, and cannot help but think this is unfair. Wonwoo wants to reach out and clasp his shoulder, smooth away the tension holding his back stiff and ramrod straight, but he can't. 

Chan shouldn't have to hold himself to this standard. He shouldn't have to keep his thumb tight over the stopper of his emotions. When the first arrow pierced Chan's shoulder, his first instinct should not have been to check on the rest of their unit. He shouldn't have turned around in time to see the next volley of arrows strike Wonwoo's armor. To see his helmet knocked off by another. To see the bolts that sent Wonwoo to his knees with a choked gasp. To be the last thing Wonwoo saw before he closed his eyes, even if the sight brought him comfort in his final moments. 

Chan’s foot catches on a loose seam of wood and his legs fold under him. Wonwoo crumples with him and learns his form is just corporeal enough to cushion Chan's fall. He cradles Chan's head in his lap, smoothing a gentle hand over his hair. 

_I'm here_ , he tries to say. _Look at me. I haven't left you._

The sting of arrows sprouting from his throat was nothing compared to this — to the love of his life squeezing his eyes shut against hot tears, unaware of the presence beside him. Wonwoo holds him until he stops shaking, and lets go when Chan steels himself to struggle to his feet. When Chan gathers the belongings he'd dropped on the way down, Wonwoo stays seated, head bowed and hands clasped together in his lap. 

When Chan takes his first, stiff steps toward a home that may not remember him and that has certainly forgotten Wonwoo, he follows a step behind. 

**

They meet during training. It's funny because they could have met sooner, back when they were studying at KAIST, separated only by a few years and a couple of extra courses. Wonwoo chooses not to dwell on what could have been and instead focuses on where they are now: astronaut candidates transferring to Houston, Texas to train in NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Lab. 

He meets the other candidates first, gravitating toward them slowly, and together they meet the prep, control, and dive teams. Wonwoo thinks of his friends back in university and the way it took shared coursework-related misery and combined effort on their parts for Wonwoo to finally reach out and slot himself like a panel into their lives. He misses them and he doesn’t want to spend all his time _just_ missing them while he’s here, so he breaks orbit unaided and reenters the atmosphere. Wonwoo does not have to worry about the angle of entry or equipping himself with an ablative shield — he lands safely, welcomed into the fold. They’re all here for similar reasons, and while English still fits like marbles in most of their mouths, their shared Korean and Mandarin lends them the comfort of home. 

Wonwoo and Chan are assigned to the same cage for several dips into the NBL pool, but their last dive together is also their cleanest. The one he'll remember when they're up in space. 

The prep team holds the top of Wonwoo’s suit steady as he tries to wiggle into it. EVA suits, especially the modified dive suits, have come a long way from the bulky versions lining the space center museum’s NBL exhibit, but donning and doffing the suits can still be a challenge. And even though they’ve put in the same number of hours of practice, Chan is ready faster, helmet and gloves attached before Wonwoo can successfully poke his head through the neck of his suit. 

“Getting slower every time, old man,” Jinwoo laughs.

“You’re older than me,” Wonwoo counters.

“Barely. Only by a few months.”

“What happened to ‘age before beauty?’” Chan says into the comms, and the multilingual members of the control team titter. Yaebin snorts, pats the cage, and steps back with Jinwoo, signalling to the crane operator to lower them into the water. 

Wonwoo and Chan's safety divers carefully detach them from the platform after they're fully submerged, and their camera-equipped team members, Seoho and Jeongyeon, send them twin thumbs up before gripping their cameras securely and drifting ahead. Haknyeon and Momo signal Wonwoo's dive monitor, Jiwoo, before pulling Chan ahead to the module they'll be working on first, following a couple of meters behind Dongsung. 

Suited up, all astronauts are precisely neutrally buoyant in the pool, rendering them completely dependent on their dive teams to move from point A to point B in the water. Still, there's something about the way some of the astronauts hold themselves that makes their movements slightly more graceful. Wonwoo and Kun have tried but have never been able to adequately explain what sets Chan and Ten apart from the rest of their crew, for instance. Whatever it is, it makes them a sight to behold, unless you lean too far back underwater and your dive team has to tug you upright again. 

Today, they glide from module to module, completing a battery of tests and tasks without any mishaps. No tangled cables, no parts or tools drifting toward the surface after slipping out of someone's gloved hand. The dive teams strap everyone back onto their platforms at the top of the seventh hour, follow them up to the surface, and that's it. 

“Congratulations,” says the commander in the control room, and Wonwoo's face splits open with the force of his grin. 

But one thing they don’t tell you about traveling in space is the ever present threat of restlessness. 

When Wonwoo’s crew docks at the ISS, all idle time is consumed by equipment transfers or repairs, with scheduled naps sprinkled throughout. The Phase I mission checklist keeps them busy, but Wonwoo dances along the edge of not having quite enough to do to stay occupied. Hyeryung swaps shifts with Wonwoo, pairing him up with Eunbi for their first real EVA. Together they climb and drift from panel to panel, installing equipment and making minor repairs to the exterior of the station. Initially, Wonwoo had been annoyed that Captain Jang sent Hyeryung to swap with him, but as they take a break to take in the view, he can admit it was a good decision.

“We’re really here,” Eunbi says quietly, and Wonwoo nods in agreement.

A couple of weeks later, Phase II preparations pull Wonwoo back from the edge again. They say goodbye to the weaker artificial gravity on the ISS and reload their ship for departure. Chan helps Wonwoo check their lab equipment to verify everything is still operational, lets him dawdle for a minute by a porthole even though he spent several weeks looking at outer space. He smiles and Wonwoo remembers he’s not alone out here.

The crew completes the final round of checks and prepares for departure, Kun at the helm, awaiting orders from their captain. Ten has multiple screens running at once, double checking his calculations for their trajectory into the next system.

“Well, let’s go,” Captain Jang says, and Hyeryung groans.

“Dahye-unnie, come on.”

“I was extremely professional for the entirety of Phase I. We’re going to be together for at least three years, so forgive me for assuming the crew’s respect won’t be dependent on formality of speech,” she says, tone teasing.

“Fine by me,” says Eunbi, and off they go.

It takes them a month to reach their target, an irregular galaxy with a couple of stars believed to have met the conditions required for planet formation. Earth’s telescopes found a couple of contenders, and the people behind them named one Varda, roses for the faint pink in their photos. Kun locks them in orbit, close enough for observation but far enough to break free at a moment’s notice.

“Wow, that’s really pink,” Ten says, and Kun snorts. “Guanheng would love this.”

“There’ll be a delay, but you can send him pictures,” Hweseung reminds them.

Ten brightens considerably and Dahye sighs, “Go ahead. You and Kun can take the first walk.”

Two years pass like this. Ten, Eunbi, and Chan take to frequent spacewalks like the pros they are, always completing jobs faster than the rest of the crew. Kun cultivates new strains of plants, and after he’s logged all observations and added them to the reports to send back to Earth, he gives them to Hweseung and they conduct further experiments in the kitchens. Hyeryung and Dahye tinker with their ship’s miniature version of the ISS’s Cold Atom Lab atom interferometer. With it, and with Ten’s help, they map the gravity field around Varda’s surface.

“It’s just like, all mountains. There are so many mountains down there. If you think of a number of mountains that can fit on a planet, Varda has _more_ ,” Ten says.

Wonwoo laughs, and he keeps analyzing the samples Eunbi and Chan bring in. He compiles notes and reviews them with Hweseung and Kun every week before they send in their reports. They have learned so much without setting foot on Varda. For their crew, two years is enough time to map its many mountains with reasonable confidence and to study its composition while suspended above its rosy atmosphere. Two years is also enough time for Chan to develop a preternatural sense for when Wonwoo, busy as he is, starts getting restless. Every time, he drags Wonwoo away from the lab bench or out of bed and up to the observation deck.

“You tell us not to go out as often as we do, so you have to take breaks too,” Chan says.

Wonwoo hums, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I guess.”

“What’s bothering you this time?”

“Do you ever feel like there’s something we’re missing?”

Chan turns to study the wide, swirling expanse of Varda. With the deck lights off, Chan is cast in pinks and reds and Wonwoo drinks in the sight.

“Maybe, but there’s always going to be something we miss. That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it? To keep looking? And you’re not on your own. We’re not alone,” Chan says.

He’s right.

Unfortunately, he’s right.

Year three begins with Hyeryung rushing onto the bridge and nearly knocking Wonwoo over in passing. She steadies herself against one of the instrument panels, hunched over and wheezing.

“There’s a star!” she gasps.

Wonwoo turns to Chan but bites back the impulse to say, “You’re the star.” Chan knows already, and Hyeryung looks too shaken for jokes or teasing.

“Unnie, there’s a star forming,” she continues. “And it’s forming _fast_.”

“Shit,” Dahye says, and everyone on the bridge for their daily briefing can’t help but agree.

There’s no time for restlessness now. All ongoing experiments are either advanced to a stage where they can be halted or they are scrapped entirely. The trio of seasoned spacewalkers checks the exterior of their craft three times. When he’s not outside, Ten is huddled with Kun, poring over their database of charts and maps to plot as many courses as quickly as possible. Hyeryung, Hweseung, and Dahye track the state of the dust cloud spotted in the distance. The turbulence within kicks up enough to form four distinct knots, growing perilously large at an alarming rate. 

Eunbi joins them after one of her EVAs and confirms the predictions they had feared. “It’s gonna start to collapse soon. Dahye-unnie, I think we have to go.”

“Kun, go ahead and send the transmission we prepared,” Dahye says, dismissing him from the bridge. “Everyone else, get ready.”

The next stage of preparations is a race, not a marathon. Wonwoo gathers the hard copies of his notes and stashes them with everyone else’s. They wipe and strap down everything that needs to be secured and do everything else in waves. Every task gets primary and secondary verification. Every suit they own is inspected thrice. Nothing is left alone if they can help it.

Wonwoo is on his second sweep of the outer bay doors, moving quickly and carefully, when he hears it.

A knock.

He skids to a stop and holds his breath, ears straining and heart pounding. There is silence and then —

Another knock.

Wonwoo’s heart skips a couple of beats, and when nothing else happens, he takes off for the bridge. In space, objects make sound, but there is no medium through which the waves can travel. In open space, no one can hear you or anything else. Objectively, Wonwoo knows these facts, but in the rush, he forces them to the back of his mind and tells himself the craft is just getting creaky, affected by the winds around the nearby star that is waiting to be born.

The cloud begins to collapse and the core heats up, flaring in a bright, beautiful, and terrifying way.

Dahye gathers the team for one last briefing before they abandon Varda and try to outpace the collapsing cloud and its burning stellar core. Hweseung’s face is carefully blank, but Wonwoo can see the creased photo clutched in his hands. They’d passed it around with his permission in their first year, and Wonwoo remembers the smiling face of the handsome man who’d had his arm around Hweseung. Eunbi and Hyeryung are holding hands, the latter watching Dahye like a hawk. The tattoo on the inside of her wrist catches Wonwoo’s eye next, and he knows Dahye has one to match. Kun is tucked into Ten’s side, when usually their roles are reversed. And Chan? Chan trembles almost imperceptibly, and Wonwoo brings their joined hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

They wait, they listen, and they obey their captain.

“Noona?” Wonwoo calls when they’ve been dispatched to their stations.

“Yeah?”

“Noona, when I was checking the bay doors, I heard something,” he says quietly.

Dahye frowns, brow deeply furrowed. “Like what? Hweseung did the sweep after you, so if anything was still loose, he would have caught it.”

“Of course, that’s not it. No, it — I don’t — Noona, I heard something knocking.”

“Knocking?”

“I know it sounds wild but noona, it sounded like something was knocking on the bay doors.”

Dahye’s expression softens, but the concern that still remains shows her trust in her crew. “Wonwoo, you know I have to ask: are you sure?”

“I know, and yes. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise. I haven’t heard it again but I just — I wanted to let you know.”

She nods and clasps his shoulder briefly. “We’ll keep an eye out, okay?”

Wonwoo nods back and hopes that will be enough.

Kun calls for confirmation from the helm one last time, engines ready, systems go. He fires everything up and Wonwoo holds his breath. They break free of Varda’s gravitational pull, leaving its orbit. They pass a couple of moons and aim past another, smaller planet in the system.

“Course locked and loaded,” Ten says, and then the ship lurches to the side.

“What the fuck?” Kun jerks them back in line without overcorrecting, but his face is white.

Eunbi and Hweseung tap through a couple of displays, the former scanning the cameras and the latter the ship status and schematics.

“I don’t know what this means,” Hweseung says. Dahye unfastens her harness and rushes to his side. From Wonwoo’s vantage point, he can see a light blinking erratically, starting from the tail end of the ship and sweeping around the edge toward the nose.

“Captain,” Kun calls, and Dahye rattles off a command to maintain the present course.

Eunbi swears under her breath. “I can’t tell if I’m seeing anything. The feeds are high definition, but there’s still noise. There’s always noise and there’s just enough that — ugh. Can someone look at this with me?”

She scrubs a hand over her face and Chan scrambles over to her. His face is drawn, and pinches tighter as they continue to loop the camera feeds.

“Captain, noona is right. There’s something moving,” Chan says, and Wonwoo’s heart sinks.

“Fuck. Hweseung, status report.”

“It’s just the one light moving. I’ve checked all angles.”

“We can work with that. Wonwoo, Chan, Eunbi — are you all good? Yes? Suit up, now,” Dahye says. “I need the three of you to do a sweep. Stay within range of each other at all times and keep your comms on. Understood?”

They go, attaching their comms and donning their suits quickly with the ease of practice and the rush of adrenaline. Eunbi turns to the side to allow Wonwoo and Chan a few seconds, a moment to press their helmets together and breathe. Wonwoo feels a pang in his chest, a rush of affection for everyone on this ship — everyone except whatever it is that they’re seeking.

“Wonwoo on point?” Eunbi asks, turning back around, and Wonwoo nods. 

They grab heavy duty flashlights from their stash and set off toward the last place Hweseung detected a signal. Wonwoo forces himself to regulate his breathing so he can focus on the sounds of the ship’s interior. The ship was not equipped with weapons, not exactly, but the crew ended up with a set of knives, sheathed and strapped to the sides of their suits. Wonwoo pats his to make sure it’s still there as they advance through the halls of the ship.

A quiet, “Clear,” is called out for every space they pass as they venture deeper into the belly of the ship, skirting along the sides and waiting for the shadows around them to move. Emergency lighting and the beams from their flashlights provide the only illumination for their path.

They make it within a couple of meters of the airlocks on the side of the ship before Wonwoo sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He stops, flinging an arm out, and Eunbi stumbles into his back. Chan stops just shy of his outstretched arm, reaching a hand out to grasp his wrist.

Ahead in the dark is a figure, shadowy and vaguely humanoid. It’s tall and broad, but not taller than Wonwoo. When the light hits them, all Wonwoo can hear in his mind is a chorus of _wrong, wrong, wrong_. Their features are thrown into stark relief and there is no “vague” any more. The creature is definitely humanoid, with facial features that look familiar but slightly...off.

Wonwoo can’t look away, and none of them can speak. His fingers twitch toward the blade sheathed at his side and the creature’s face tracks the movement. The longer he looks at them, the more unsettled he feels.

The creature cocks its head to the side and Wonwoo’s blood goes cold.

“Eunbi-yah,” Wonwoo whispers. “Give me your knife.”

She passes it to him with steady hands, and he is reminded of how brave their crew is and how much he cares about them.

“Give me a few seconds,” Wonwoo says, and he waits to hear two hums of acknowledgement before unsheathing his knife and lunging forward, both blades held defensively in front of his face and chest.

The creature smiles, or something happens to its face that is meant to convey delight or approval but ultimately falls short, and Wonwoo wonders for a split second if he’s made a mistake. But then it reaches for him and he ducks under its arms and slides to its other side. He’s placed the creature between himself and his crew, but he hopes the knives in his hands and his reckless move is enough to keep its attention.

“When I say brace, do it!”

“Wonwoo, what the —”

“Just do it!”

“Copy,” Chan says through gritted teeth, Eunbi giving her affirmative shortly thereafter.

Wonwoo fakes a step toward the creature and it makes this hollow, haunting sound before swiping at him. One of his knives catches it in the arm and the creature gets louder, its cry twisting sharply toward agony and surprise. Wonwoo stumbles back toward the airlock and grins when the creature follows. His plan is stupid but it’s the only one he’s got.

“Ready in three!” Wonwoo cries, and a glance over the advancing creature’s shoulder shows twin expressions of horror blooming on Eunbi and Chan’s faces. They know his plan is stupid and reckless, and Wonwoo knows it’s unfair, but he thinks he has a chance at taking this creature out and he intends to take it. 

“3, 2, 1 — brace!” 

The creature gets a hand on Wonwoo and he rams his free arm elbow first into the switch by the airlock door. They tumble in and Wonwoo yanks himself free as the creature stumbles. He jabs at the inner switch and readies the outer doors. 

“Wonwoo, what the fuck are you doing?” Chan calls over the comms. “The chamber is depressurizing. You’d better get a fucking tether attached _now_.”

He hurries to attach a tether because he’s reckless and stupid but not that stupid, and he’s granted enough time to fasten it to his suit by the creature’s fascination and frustration with the airlock. The creature swivels around, surveying the interior of the chamber, hissing as it feels the pressure changing. Wonwoo assumes it can survive outside the ship because it had to have gotten in through the bay doors in the back somehow, but he can also see dark blood dripping from a slash in its arm. Something’s got to give, and if Wonwoo is lucky, it won’t be him.

“Got it,” Wonwoo says, and he hears a dry, choked laugh in his ear. Forgoing standard protocol, Wonwoo does not announce the opening of the outer doors. Instead, he waits until the last second and launches himself at the creature, hitting the button on his way out and taking the creature with him.

The tether does its job and keeps Wonwoo connected to the ship, even with the creature thrashing in his grip and the ship continuing to move forward through the galaxy. He lets go, swiping his knives inward. When the creature opens its mouth, Wonwoo is grateful that he can’t hear the sound it makes, but the sight still makes him shudder. The creature drifts back, still within arm’s reach, watching Wonwoo with features twisted in anger. Like this, it looks less uncanny and more clearly not human.

It lunges for him again and Wonwoo thinks, _Oh. I’m actually going to have to do this_. He narrows his eyes, raises his knives, and prays for the first time in a very, very long time.

In exchange for a desperate slash at Wonwoo’s tether, the creature forfeits its life. When it stops moving, Wonwoo kicks it away, willing his breathing to slow and his heart rate to calm down. The ringing in his ears stops and resolves itself into the sound of Chan’s voice, tinny over the comms.

“Wonwoo? Wonwoo are you still there? We can’t see you anymore. There’s too much debris. Are you there? Please. Over.”

“I’m here,” Wonwoo says.

“Shit. Hi. Hello.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Hi. I have — Channie, I think I have bad news.”

“What? No. We’re going to reel you back in. It’ll be fine. Captain said we’re clear.”

“Kun’s got enough to deal with, navigating through all this shit even without a teammate floating alongside the ship. Chan, I can see the stars forming. You have to go.”

“Wonwoo-oppa, this isn't fair. We can reel you in. It’ll only take a couple of minutes,” Eunbi says.

“I know it doesn’t take long, but the thing is,” Wonwoo says, glancing down at one of the only things tying him to their ship. “The thing is, I don’t think you _can_.”

“Why not,” Chan says, a demand rather than a question.

“The tether.”

“Fuck.”

“It’s basically severed. It’s barely hanging on. If I move too fast to try to grab it, it might snap. I’m trying, I promise, but I really don’t think I can secure it enough before Kun has to make a jump. I know this is really unfair, and I’m sorry you have to listen to this too, Eunbi, but I have to —”

“Don’t,” Chan says wetly, and Wonwoo feels a tear roll down his cheek. After the first one spills, others follow.

“Chan, please. I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” Chan calls back, and he’s crying too. “I love you too. So much.”

The tether snaps and Wonwoo is suspended in space. On one side, he watches the ship that has been his home for three years prepare for acceleration. On the other, a protostar flares, its bright light blinding. Wonwoo blinks and the universe blinks back.

**

Wonwoo has been living in a small, one-bedroom apartment for a year and a half when Hansol and Chan move in. “Living” might be a stretch. Squatting might be more accurate. Really, Wonwoo has just been occupying this space for eighteen months, and he doesn’t know how to reveal himself to Hansol or Chan without seeming like a threat. Luckily or unluckily for him, he doesn’t have to.

“Something is here,” Chan says one night in the middle of their first week of unwitting cohabitation. 

Hansol pauses for a moment, chopsticks suspended above his bowl, before shrugging and directing noodles into his mouth. 

“Cool, what?” he asks once he’s finished chewing.

Chan cocks his head to the side and stares at the space above Wonwoo’s left shoulder. Wonwoo shudders. The last tenants broke their lease early and moved out because it was “just too cold all the time,” and that was the sole impression Wonwoo had left on them. With Chan, Wonwoo can’t decide whether to be excited or concerned. He's not sure if Chan only feels the chill or if he can actually sense more than just a vague presence in their apartment. A lightbulb in the cramped kitchen flickers, Wonwoo’s nervous energy dissipating into their surroundings. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Chan’s eyes narrow. “Who are you and why are you in our apartment?”

His gaze slides up and over, and when they seem to lock eyes, Wonwoo’s control lapses. All the lights in the apartment flicker rapidly. 

“Hey, stop that,” Chan calls sharply, and Wonwoo clamps his mouth shut, willing the lights to cut abruptly back to normal. The rice cooker tucked into the corner of the counter makes an uncharacteristically sad whistling sound, and Wonwoo silences that too.

Quiet, heavy tension in the apartment lasts for about twenty seconds and then Hansol laughs.

“That was kind of cute,” he says. Chan glares at him and Hansol’s chopsticks fly out of his hand, rap Hansol sharply on the wrist, and then hover above him so he can take them back. “Ow! What? It’s like they’re shy, whatever they are. It's cute.”

Wonwoo can’t blush, but he thinks he would in this situation.

They fall into a routine faster than Wonwoo expected, two mostly human boys and a ghost as their third roommate. Hansol explains that there’s no way they’re giving up the apartment and its cheap rent. 

“Thanks for that, by the way. I assume that’s your influence.”

Wonwoo knocks on the floor once and Hansol beams in the direction of the sound. They're getting a lot better at picking out Wonwoo's location, though Chan still sees him best. Hazy, but clearer than Hansol can. 

They've worked out a communication system, mostly consisting of strategic knocking because Wonwoo can't vocalize anything. Wonwoo never drifts through doors or walls unless the spaces within are clear, and Hansol and Chan talk to him whenever they're home. They greet each other in the mornings and Wonwoo taps out a good night every night. The apartment feels more like home than ever. 

Over the next couple of months, Chan collects plants, moving them around the apartment until he's pleased with their positions. When everything is in place, he and Hansol usher Wonwoo into the center of the apartment to test out a spell they've been cobbling together. Wonwoo can't remember if he knew any witches when he was alive, or how he felt about them. He trusts these two, though, and they gain more trust time and time again. If they say the combination of green and communications magic will help, they're probably right. If they're wrong, well. They've taken safety precautions. 

What happens is Wonwoo experiences a rush of warmth, electric and unlike anything he's felt before in his brief, ghostly existence, and then Chan pulls a tablet off their table. He shoves it in Wonwoo's direction and gasps when it meets resistance, bumping into a torso he can't quite see. 

Wonwoo takes the tablet with shaking, nearly corporeal hands, and types, _Hi, I'm Wonwoo. This feels really weird_. 

“Shit, it worked,” Hansol says. “Chan, we gave our ghost a tech upgrade.”

“Oh shit, we did,” Chan says, and Wonwoo thinks the slow smiles that spread across both of their faces are the greatest things he's ever seen.

The rest of the weekend is spent meticulously copying and editing notes for the final version of the spell, and Wonwoo gains primary custody of a tablet to continue talking to them. Hansol asks a lot of questions, some of which Wonwoo can't answer — like his full birth date rather than just the year — and others that make Chan laugh. 

“Hyung, then? Wonwoo-hyung? You're really weird but really funny, which is almost exactly what I expected,” Hansol says, and Wonwoo smiles serenely. 

But sometimes Wonwoo forgets the state he's in, and he'll reach out a hand for Hansol or Chan, only to pull it back at the last minute. Sometimes Chan notices, but usually he doesn't. 

“Hyung,” Chan calls, meek in a way he's never been around Wonwoo. “Do you — would you like — do you want me to do a reading for you?”

Wonwoo taps out a couple of question marks, angling the tablet so Chan doesn't have to crane his neck to see. 

“I know you don't remember much before you ended up in this apartment, but I was talking to Minho-hyung and he said maybe we could figure out what's going on. You know, with you.”

Wonwoo knows, or at least he _hopes_ Chan isn't trying to kick him out, so all he does is add a couple more question marks to the screen. 

“Usually there's a tie, a tether for the spirit. If you wanted to know more, maybe we could find it for you,” Chan explains.

He looks so nervous, so Wonwoo sends him a yes and watches another couple of weeks pass them by. More plants appear in the apartment, trailing limbs dripping from the ceiling and climbing across shelves. The magic in the apartment grows heavier, saturated to the point that Hansol and Chan begin to see Wonwoo a little more clearly. 

“Hyung, did you know you're cute?” Hansol asks, and the way Chan flushes makes Wonwoo wonder if both of them were thinking it. 

Frustratingly, the balance is maintained. As Wonwoo becomes clearer, the attempts to set up and perform a reading become more challenging. Every book they consult and every technique they try sparks and fizzles out, leaving Wonwoo concerned and Chan disappointed.

“Seungkwan called early this morning,” Hansol says. “They said we'd have to modify the reading for you, rattled off a couple of instructions, and hung up on me. Usually their intuition is good — they must have Seen something.”

 _Is that why Chan has been out all day?_ Wonwoo asks. _He slipped out before dawn, but didn't say where he was going._

“Yeah, he left as soon as I got off the phone with Seungkwan. Coven library, probably.”

Three more days pass before Chan slams his hands down on the table and says, “I've got it.”

Hansol yelps and then picks up the pan he'd dropped when Chan's exclamation startled him. He hangs it up over the sink and pads over to join him at the table. 

“You're going to like this one,” Chan says, and Hansol's grin glimmers in the low light. 

Much like the spell that granted Wonwoo an alternative to a voice or fumbled attempts at Morse code, this ritual comes together like a slightly wonky puzzle. The pieces don't fit in a conventional way, but the witches are confident this attempt will work. Hansol and Chan huddle together over cards, bones, and tea leaves for two days before the latter sends the former out to harvest some mushrooms. 

Wonwoo once again finds himself sitting in the middle of the apartment across from Chan. Hansol waits in the bedroom with the door wide open, within sight but far enough away to intervene if things go wrong. 

“Which they won't,” Hansol says. 

Chan rolls his eyes, tips his head back, and drains his mug of psilocybin tea. He coughs and wipes his mouth before leaning forward to light a single candle. The lights in the apartment dim while the small flame flickers, casting shadows and a warm glow over Chan's face. 

“Hands,” Chan demands, holding his out, palms up, and eyes still closed. Wonwoo obliges. Neither of them can feel anything, not really, but Chan's fingers twitch beneath Wonwoo's hands all the same. 

“You know what? I don't think we needed the bones.” Chan cracks one eye open. Hansol snorts but stays put. “Or the cards and tea leaves. Hey, Hansollie, do you think Seungkwan was fucking with us?”

“Maybe a little, but they were right about ‘traditional’ methods not working. This isn't a seance or a regular reading for a client.”

Chan opens his other eye and the pair of them are molten, lit not just by the candle, but from within. He scrunches his nose like he's overwhelmed, and Wonwoo feels a rush of fondness. 

“Wow,” Chan breathes. “You have so many lines, so many threads. I don't know how they're not tangled up more than they already are. There's two that — oh.”

“Oh? What ‘oh?’” Hansol asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it's fine.” Chan blinks and rolls his shoulders. “There are two newer ones that are, well. They're fresh.”

Wonwoo searches his face for clues, more insight, but Chan just bites his lip. 

“Some of the threads are closed loops. I'm not entirely sure why they're still there when they seem to be complete, but they're held close to your core. The others are so bright, hyung.” Chan squints, leaning forward. “I can't tell where they go, but they look important. Like they're waiting for you.”

Chan sits back and studies Wonwoo, eyes flitting from his form to the space around him. He twists around to look at Hansol and then turns back. Wonwoo tries to squeeze his hand and Chan twitches again. 

“I think the universe is trying to tell you something, Wonwoo-hyung,” he says with a frown. Then his eyes go unfocused, glazed over, and his next words come out low, eerie and mesmerizing. 

“Don't go back. This is not your only end. You walk and walk, and when you call out, know that there will always be an answer. You are a stone dropped into a pond, into hundreds of ponds, and the ripples in your wake reach further than you know. If you are a tree and you fall in the middle of the forest, someone somewhere will always be around to hear the sound. You are not alone, not forever. The cycles will bring you back to them. You carry them with you always, even if they will not hold you back.”

The candle goes out in a flash and Hansol rushes in, snatching a full glass of water off the counter and skidding to a stop in front of them. Wonwoo shrinks back. 

“Dude, what the fuck was that?”

Chan takes the water and chugs half of it in one go. “I don't know. I've never done that before. Hyung, are you okay?”

Wonwoo scrabbles for his tablet and taps out a shaky, _Yes?_

“I think,” Chan starts, squeezing his eyes shut. “I think there's something waiting out there for you, and I don't think this is the first one. I don't think it'll be the last either.”

For the first time since he's been haunting this apartment, Wonwoo feels pressure building in his head like a migraine. Colors swirl too quickly before his eyes, and a sudden, sharp sting at the base of his throat makes him scramble back. Lights in the apartment flare to full brightness and then extinguish with a loud squeal. 

“Fuck.”

Wonwoo is quieter after that, and while neither Hansol nor Chan tiptoe around him, he feels a growing distance between them. He likes it here, in this apartment with two people he cares about, but he knows this isn't it for him. Chan said there was something waiting for him, something he's waited for too, and one day this cycle will break. 

_Something is happening_ , Wonwoo tells them one day. 

Sunlight is streaming in through their windows. Hansol is spread out on the floor and Chan is curled up at the desk, scribbling away in a notebook. Hansol sees the message first and passes it over to Chan, who makes a face like he saw this coming. 

“I've been thinking about the threads,” Chan says. “Specifically the loops. I said something about cycles, right? I- I think they're yours. Not just stuck to you, tying you in place. They're not just happening _to_ you. I think they _are_ you. All of them. Hansol and Minho-hyung think so too.”

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side and Hansol comes over to sit on the floor with him again. 

“It's like, there are all these chances, right? Choices to make, paths to take, places to wander. And sometimes there are lines, like strings between people. Sometimes there are chances to catch the other end and hold fast, tie a knot, be an anchor or maybe find one. Some people don't follow the thread, and they find homes elsewhere if at all. Others? They get another chance.”

Chan spins his chair around so he's facing them fully. “I think you ended up with a lot of chances, Wonwoo-hyung. I just don't think you remember them.”

But sometimes Wonwoo will pause and catch movement in his periphery, where the air shimmers and time feels thin. He always assumed it was just a byproduct of staying with two witches.

Maybe not. 

“Something is calling you,” Chan says. 

_And what called me here?_ Wonwoo asks. 

Chan says he doesn't know, but Wonwoo can tell he's lying. The air shimmers around Wonwoo now, insistent rather than distracting, and he thinks that even if his time is up, it was well spent. Even for a ghost. Especially for a ghost. 

_Thank you for staying with me_ , Wonwoo says, smiling when Hansol and Chan gather close. If he had actual knees, they'd be brushing on either side. _I'll miss you. I'll keep looking._

“I hope you find them,” Chan says softly, eyes warm and a little shiny. Hansol nods and takes his hand. 

_I have_ , Wonwoo thinks, and then he doesn’t think any more.

**

Chan cries out and the sound is unexpectedly undistorted, crystal clear when it shouldn't be. Wonwoo opens his eyes and all he sees is open water. 

“Chan, stop!” someone else yells desperately. “We can’t do anything. I can’t even see him any more. I can barely see _you_. Please, we can’t lose you too.”

They’re right. Wonwoo knows the signs, the stages. They all do. He just wasn't expecting to be so aware of them as they were happening. 

Something is wrong. 

Wonwoo is so cold. The open waters of the Antarctic are frigid and he can no longer feel his hands. He can barely feel his feet, let alone coordinate his limbs to push toward the surface or to tread water. He is weightless and he stopped kicking long ago. If Wonwoo continues to sink, and he will, he will only grow colder. Any warmth he had left from the drop, the initial response to recognized danger, or the insulating undersuit beneath his dry suit has long since leached out of him.

He holds his breath. 

There's a hairline fracture in his goggles, so Wonwoo’s vision is obscured by dripping water and condensation. He blinks slowly, slow enough that his eyes slip shut and the effort required to open them again seems insurmountable. Chan's voice is the only thing that breaks through the fog, but Wonwoo isn't sure it's real. He can't see the surface or the dark sky above. There's no reason Wonwoo should be able to hear Lee Chan’s voice. Sound travels slowly through water, slower with greater distance. Still, he clings to what feels like an auditory hallucination the way one might burrow into a Bair Hugger to warm up and combat hypothermia.

He stops breathing. 

When nights grew cold on the ship, blankets were a blessing but never warm enough. Nothing compared to crawling under the covers and wrapping his arms around Chan. 

Wonwoo spent the first five expeditions sleeping alone, resigned to but not quite content with stolen glances. On the sixth, the team traveled south once more and Chan came to him. 

Junhui had laughed at Wonwoo for talking himself out of talking to Chan for years, convinced as he was that there was no mutual interest. There were sparks, sure, but Chan had two partners back home when they were first assigned to the same team. Then none. Then someone he met at a conference, suited up and glowing after a well-received presentation. Wonwoo understood. It was hard not to look at Chan in his element. It was hard not to look at Chan in general.

“Soonyoung told you to give it a shot,” Junhui had said. “Third mission. Chan had that undercut and you'd broken things off with Taeyong.”

Taeyong had been great — casual and fun, understanding of Wonwoo’s travel requirements for research. Hyungwon had introduced them, all similarly busy and just short of unattainable. They hadn't hit it off immediately, but they fell into each other faster than Wonwoo had expected. It was good while it lasted. 

When their schedules lined up, Taeyong would curl up on his couch, soft and sweet, clutching a sawfish plushie a friend had bought him as a souvenir. He'd listen to Wonwoo ramble about oceanographic surveys, aquatic wildlife, the weather, cloud formations, or anything at all. In turn, he'd talk about the animals he'd seen while traveling, the photoshoots, the CF deals, and new tracks he or his friend had posted online. He’d laughed the first time Taeyong mentioned his SoundCloud, said it sounded like he was doing awkward promo. When Taeyong pouted, Wonwoo pulled up the SoundCloud profile he shared with Seungcheol and Jihoon. They shared headphones and listened to each other well. Wonwoo still has a couple of Taeyong's songs downloaded to his phone. 

But Wonwoo wasn't in love and neither was Taeyong, so their end came less as a surprise and more as a slight, almost inevitable shift in dynamic. Heated kisses turned into warm looks, which became tepid but no less sincere messages of encouragement. They parted ways amicably, one last kiss to the forehead that left Taeyong giggling. Wonwoo still has an album on his camera roll with cute animal photos Taeyong had taken and sent to him. He still sends them sometimes. It's nice.

“Fuck Soonyoung,” Wonwoo had told Junhui. “I was trying to be professional.”

“Now you don't have to be,” Chan had cut in, smiling. 

He'd pressed his lips to the back of Wonwoo's hand, eyes glittering. Wonwoo’s heart had skipped a few beats before picking up the pace as Chan continued to look at him. The weight of Chan's gaze was always more than enough to set Wonwoo alight, low flames licking out from deep within his chest and curling around his ribs. 

Now, in the water, his heart rate slows. 

Something is _wrong_. 

Wonwoo isn't afraid, but he knows he should be. He should be unconscious, but he isn't. He is far too aware of his surroundings, even as he fights to keep his eyes open. He is adrift, weightless in space — no, at sea, where effort _is_ required for movement. Why did he stop kicking so early? Fight or flight should have kept Wonwoo vertical and mostly above water for longer than this. He'd propelled himself to the surface the moment his tank fractured and sent a hiss of bubbles into the water. At some point, there was a disconnect between Wonwoo and what made sense. A tether had come loose.

Wait. No. 

Before the fracture, something had hit Chan and knocked him into Wonwoo’s chest. His eyes had been wide behind his goggles when the lamp attached to his hood fractured, flickered, and went out. Wonwoo had reached out for him and simultaneously, they noticed the tear that had formed in Wonwoo’s dry suit. Wonwoo had scrabbled at Chan’s arm and propelled both of them to the surface as quickly as he could. They had not been deep enough to have to worry about decompression procedures or calculated stops on the ascent, and for that, Wonwoo was grateful.

The moment their heads burst above the surface of the water, Wonwoo had frantically signalled their vessel. Chan was still shell shocked when they reached the pilot ladder. Wonwoo pushed his partner up, clumsily wrapped Chan's fingers around the side ropes, and gestured for Junhui to pull him out of the water once he reached the deck. He'd waited for Chan to climb and didn't reach for the next step on the pilot ladder himself until Chan tumbled over onto the deck with Junhui’s help. 

Wonwoo had managed to climb three steps before a rogue wave hit. 

Technical diving courses and their crew took safety drills seriously, but muscle memory can only get you so far, especially when clouded over by fear and the remnants of something else. Something far, far away. Something orbiting a planet not your own. An experience rooted in your bones but not truly yours, not belonging to _this_ version of you. 

In space, you drift. In the ocean, when necessary, you fight. Wonwoo, with his wires crossed, had relaxed prematurely and waited for the pull of a force that did not intend to help him.

He closes his eyes, thinks of home — of being by Chan’s side — and sinks.

**

The thirteen of them sit side by side on the platform, some curled up and others with legs dangling freely off the edge. Their collection of shirts matches the towels draped around their necks, and Wonwoo raises his to mop the sweat from his brow. The stage lights come up and with them, the roar of the crowd rises again. 

With each new experience — every music video, photoshoot, Vlive, performance, concert, and now tour — Wonwoo thinks, _this is it. Look how far we've come_. And then they push higher and further, and pride and satisfaction simmer under their skin, welling up beneath the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. 

The flashes of light and warmth in moments like these make everything worth it. Wonwoo looks at the rest of Seventeen, glowing and bright eyed, and is nearly bowled over by how much he loves them. He looks at Chan, eyes reflecting the stage lights and the twinkling Carat Bongs, and is tremendously grateful for the chance to be here. To be by their sides.

In the practice rooms, studios, and sometimes in bed late at night, Wonwoo thinks about everything that has led him to this moment. Every decision, evaluation, and breath. Every flaw, every moment of pettiness or selfishness. Everything human and imperfect about him, and everything that makes him feel like he belongs. Seventeen is not a perfect team and perhaps they never will be, but they share dreams, successes, and failures. It’s hard, nearly unbearable sometimes, but he has his family. He has Chan, who smiles at him like the sunrise and who calls him on his shit but lets him dote when he feels like it.

They link hands and raise their arms for their fans, and Wonwoo thinks, _This is it. This is where I want to be. I want to be with these people for the rest of my life_.

And this is how the rest of his life begins.

**Author's Note:**

> There's an extra HD version of the amazing art for this prompt [here](https://twitter.com/decoydang/status/1306971247243190273?s=20).
> 
> **
> 
> One timeline/cycle is set at sea and includes descriptions of the stages of drowning. If you would like to skip this section, stop when you reach _"Chan cries out and the sound is unexpectedly undistorted, crystal clear when it shouldn't be."_ Scroll ahead to the next section break (**) or search for _"The thirteen of them sit side by side on the platform."_ If you have other questions about sections to skip based on the archive warning and tags, please let me know!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tether (art entry)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528194) by [helicases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helicases/pseuds/helicases), [super](https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/pseuds/super)




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